


Swept Off His Feet

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Porn With Plot, Virgin Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Mycroft didn’t expect his parents to hire such an attractive chimney sweep. And he certainly didn’t expect anything more to come of it.





	Swept Off His Feet

Mycroft sighed as he reached his parents home. He wished he could just stay at university for the holidays, but oh no, family obligations meant here he was home. With Sherlock, now age thirteen and thinking he was a decade older, and Mum who wouldn’t let him stay in his room for the entire holiday, no matter how much he tried. Steeling himself, he knocked and let himself in.

The house was fairly quiet, and he wondered if they’d gone out somewhere. Perhaps Sherlock had managed to injure himself? Again? He heard some music that was decidedly nothing either of his parents would listen to and made his way into the front room, bag still over his shoulder.

Someone was bent over kneeling in front of the fireplace, trousers almost sinfully low on his hips, black T-shirt slipping down his back. The music was coming from a small radio they had next to them, and those self-same hips were shifting back and forth in time to the music, which did nothing to quell the sinfulness. Mycroft shifted his bag in front of himself a moment before a head popped up and gave him the cheekiest grin he’d ever seen. “Hi, there.”

Mycroft swallowed. “Hello,” he managed.

“You must be Mycie. Your parents said you might get home before they did.” The incubus in front of him wiped his hands on his trousers and stood. “I’m Greg, just cleaning out the chimney.”

“Mycroft,” he corrected automatically. “And I can see that.” Good lord how could a bit of ash and dust make someone even _more_ attractive?

“I’ll be done soon.” Greg looked him over in a way that Mycroft cough and look away.

“I...I’ll leave you to your work,” said Mycroft, hurrying up the stairs.

He all but threw himself into his room, tossing the bag onto the bed and running hands through his hair. Ridiculous. Why his parents had hired an incubus he didn’t know, but clearly they were testing him. He took a breath, and then another one, hearing the front door open. Mummy would know he was home and expect him to make an appearance. He ran a hand through his hair again, straightened his clothes, and ventured back down the stairs.

“Mycie!” Mum smiled at him. Sherlock slouched next to her, arm in a sling. He’d told Mum he’d tripped on the stairs but a glance told him he’d actually fallen out of the window. Dad put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder to keep him from slinking too far.

“It’s so good to see you.” Mum planted a kiss on his cheek and Mycroft tried not to notice that Greg was still in the front room, pretending not to watch.

“Thank you, Mum,” managed Mycroft, extricating himself.

“All done, Mrs. Holmes.” Greg collected his few things and stood. “I’ll be back in a few days to check on things, if you like.”

“That would be wonderful.” Mummy turned to get some money out of her purse as Dad marched Sherlock into the kitchen. Greg gave Mycroft a wink while everyone else was distracted.

Mycroft idly wondered if it were possible to melt into the carpet.

“Here.” Mum turned around and put cash in Greg’s hand. “We’ll see you next Thursday?”

Greg nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it, Ma’am. Gotta make sure these chimneys are ready for Santa Claus, right Mycroft?”

“Erm, of course,” said Mycroft.

“There’s no such thing as Santa Claus,” called Sherlock, petulantly, from the kitchen.

“Keep that up and there will be coal in your stocking,” Greg called back. “See you Thursday.” He gave Mum another nod, glanced at Mycroft, and made his way out.

“You… hired a chimney sweep?” asked Mycroft.

“Obviously,” said Mummy, closing up her purse again. “It was getting to be a hazard.” She turned and headed for the kitchen, expecting Mycroft to follow in her wake, which he dutifully did.

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, nursing his tea. Father put a mug in front of Mycroft as Mum began interrogating him about school. Mycroft tried to ignore the look Sherlock was giving him as he answered Mum’s questions and Dad got dinner going.

**

Later that night Mycroft was finally in his room reading a book on international fishing treaties when the door creaked open and Sherlock slipped inside. He minded his arm, climbing up onto the bed, and settling himself cross-legged.

Mycroft put his book aside and regarded his little brother.

“It’s quiet when you’re gone,” admitted Sherlock.

“University is lacking in explosive chemistry experiments, in general,” answered Mycroft.

Sherlock gave him a crooked smile.

“Would you like me to read you a story, Sherlock?” asked Mycroft, reaching for another book on his nightstand.

“I’m too old for that. I’m not a little kid,” said Sherlock, even as he moved up next to his brother.

“Oh of course,” said Mycroft, letting Sherlock pick out the story and beginning to read.

**

The next few days were tedious at best. Mum insisted Mycroft help put up the holiday decorations, especially since Sherlock couldn’t do as much with his dislocated shoulder. Sherlock, of course, was not the least bit bothered by this arrangement and stayed in the kitchen to help Dad with the baking.

Thursday morning, Mum took Sherlock to the shops and Dad went to meet up with some mates, leaving Mycroft suspiciously and conveniently alone in the house. When the doorbell rang he went to greet the incubus masquerading as a chimney sweep.

Mycroft was not prepared for a clean version of Greg, all tight t-shirt and somewhat spiked hair, though clearly he hadn’t done much to it since was working. Those trousers were still sinfully low.

“Morning, Mycroft.” Greg grinned at him, making Mycroft’s heart skip a beat.

“Good morning, Gregory,” said Mycroft, letting him in.

Greg cocked his head at him. “Nobody’s called me that in a while.”

“But it is your name, isn’t it?” Mycroft could feel a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Yeah. And yours is Mycroft, even if your mum keeps calling you Mycie.”

“Indeed. I uh, I’ll get some tea,” said Mycroft, escaping to the kitchen. He rest his head against the cool refrigerator door, trying to get his thoughts in order.

“The place looks nice,” Greg’s voice came from directly behind him. 

Mycroft closed his eyes a moment, then headed for the kettle without looking back. As if Greg hadn’t just caught leaning against the appliances.

“The holiday decorations, I mean.” There was the scrape of a chair. Mycroft flipped on the kettle and turned around, treated to the sight of Greg straddling a chair and leaning on the back. Especially impressive in those trousers.

“Mum and I did most of them,” said Mycroft, hand blindly reaching out and landing on a basket of biscuits. “Would you like one?”

“Sure,” said Greg, watching him walk over and put the basket on the table. “You going to have one?”

Mycroft nearly snorted, putting a hand on his ample stomach. “I don’t think I really need any more biscuits.”

“Aw, have a biscuit. More to love.”

Mycroft blushed again, but reluctantly took one and nibbled on it, sitting down.

“Home from University?” asked Greg.

“Yes. I’m studying government,” said Mycroft, looking at his own knees.

“I bet you’re brilliant at it.” Greg’s voice was gentle, making Mycroft look up and catch his gaze. 

Mycroft swallowed. “I am.You’re attending school as well.” It didn’t come out as a question.

“Hence the chimney work on my holiday break, yeah. I’m gonna be a copper.”

“You’ll be good at it,” said Mycroft, unable to help his own smile.

Greg patted his knee, but just then the kettle went off. Mycroft stood quickly and went to fix them each a cuppa.

“You wanna come talk to me while I work?” asked Greg, getting to his own feet.

If it was any other human on earth Mycroft would rather set himself on fire. As it was, he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a morning. “Of course.”

“Good.” Greg led the way back towards the chimney.

** 

Mycroft was still in the front room when Mum and Sherlock arrived home. Mum raised an eyebrow and Mycroft excused himself, collecting the mugs, trying to avoid her gaze.

**

Over the next two weeks Mycroft found himself frequently talking to Greg, but always under the guise of Greg checking something in the chimney. He was fairly certain they had the cleanest chimney in the neighborhood by now, if not the city.

But school was starting soon, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d see Greg again. The last time Greg came over he rubbed the back of his neck as if he were nervous, and offered Mycroft a piece of paper. “Here’s my address. If you want to, I dunno, write or something.”

Mycroft couldn’t help his smile. “I’d be delighted,” he promised.

“Good,” said Greg with a relieved smile. “See you around.” He impulsively leaned forward and kissed Mycroft’s cheek, then let himself out. Mycroft stood blinking in the entryway for the next five minutes before going to copy the address into his book.

**

Mycroft anxiously waited a few weeks before he wrote, wondering if Greg had really meant it. It wasn’t his best writing, but he tried to at least be polite and ask after his studies.

Greg’s response came a week later, with a greasy thumbprint on one side. But Mycroft didn’t mind at all.

They wrote about once a week after that. Mycroft found himself looking forward to the mail delivery, always his heart skipping when there was a new letter from Greg, always a bit of disappointment when there was not. 

The weather turned warmer and for once Mycroft was glad to be going home.

**

Greg showed up two hours after Mycroft arrived home. “May I take Mycroft out for lunch?” he asked Mum, Mycroft fidgeting a few steps behind her.

Mum looked him up and down, eyed his motorcycle in the driveway, then nodded. 

Letting out a breath, Mycroft started to walk past her, only for Mum to grab his wrist and put some condoms in his hand. “Have fun, but not too much fun.”

Mycroft made an indignant noise somewhere between a squeak and curse and stuffed them into his pocket.

Greg chuckled and took his arm. “I’ll have him back one piece,” he promised.

“Good. You don’t and I’ll kill you,” said Mummy with a pleasant smile on her face.

“Oh my God,” said Mycroft, covering his face with his hands after the door was closed.

Greg pulled him into a hug. “At least she cares. Come on, I have somewhere I’d like to take you.” 

Mycroft let himself be led to the bike, thinking that he was not normally the sort to get on a motorcycle, but Greg, as always, broke all his rules and expectations. Greg put the helmet on him and helped him get settled, then they took off, Mycroft’s hands holding those delightful hips.

Instead of a restaurant, Greg took them out of town, then down a back road through some trees until they reached a soft green slope of land by a pond. 

“I used to go swimming out here when I was a bit younger,” said Greg, putting their helmets aside, opening up a saddlebag and taking out a cloth and some food. He caught Mycroft’s eye. “Nobody around for miles.”

Mycroft swallowed hard. “Good,” he said, moving to help Greg.

They settled down for their picnic, falling into easy conversation. Mycroft was glad to find that the person he’d gotten to know through letters was the same one in front of him now. Towards the end of the meal, Greg reached out a hand and brushed Mycroft’s hair back. “I’d really like to kiss you,” he said softly.

Mycroft nodded and licked his lips. “Please?”

Greg leaned in and kissed him gently, cupping his cheek.

Mycroft kissed him back, glad that Greg obviously had more experience in this than he did. At least one of them should know what they were doing.

Greg broke away after a moment, and gave him one of his cheeky grins. “You want to go swimming?”

Mycroft blinked. “I didn’t bring…” There wasn’t a chance to finish the sentence as Greg stripped out of his clothes in record time and splashed into the pond. He turned around and looked at Mycroft. “It’s not that cold.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” murmured Mycroft, undressing with less swiftness and grace and making his way down to the water’s edge. He covered himself with one hand when he saw where Greg’s eyes had gone. “It’s a bit chilly out here,” he tried to explain.

“It’s fine, come on, you’re already naked, no point in standing there.”

Mycroft sighed and tried to carefully step into the pond, only to slip and fall with a splash, head going under.

Greg was there in a moment, strong arms lifting him back to his feet as Mycroft sputtered. “You okay? Are you hurt?” he asked, some concern in his voice.

“Only my dignity,” muttered Mycroft.

Greg chuckled, relieved. “Good. That wasn’t how I was expecting you to get in, but I suppose it worked.”

“If by worked you mean we’re both naked, standing in a pond, and you’re holding me.”

Greg leaned in and kissed the side of his throat. “I’m not arguing.”

Mycroft shivered and it wasn’t entirely the breeze. He was aware of Greg’s growing interest as well. He bit his lip and turned to face him. “Gregory. I… I haven’t... I’ve never… I mean who would want me? Like _that_ anyway.”

“I would,” said Greg, cupping his cheek again and drawing him into another kiss.

Mycroft sighed softly and relaxed.

Greg pulled away a bit and kissed Mycroft’s forehead as he looked down. “Only as far and as fast you want to go, love.”

Mycroft blushed all over again. “I want you.”

“Well that’s good, you know why, Mycroft Holmes?”

Mycroft looked up and met his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Because I want you.” Greg took Mycroft’s hand and put it on his cock under the water.

Mycroft’s breath caught and he gave Greg a careful stroke. 

Greg moaned softly and leaned in to kiss him. “I want your hands all over me, Mycroft. Will you let me touch you, too?”

“Yes. Please.” Mycroft kissed him back, free hand reaching up to hold Greg’s shoulders, groaning as Greg stroked his cock in return.

“Beautiful,” murmured Greg before deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth.

Mycroft’s knees nearly buckled, and Greg wrapped his arm around his waist. He pulled back again and kissed Mycroft’s shoulder. “Maybe we should do this somewhere other than standing in a pond.”

“The pond was your idea,” Mycroft reminded him.

“Mm, I suppose so. Here, let me help you out.” Greg kept an arm around him so he wouldn’t slip again as they got back onto the grass.

Mycroft’s heart raced as Greg lay him back again on the cloth. The sun warmed their skin as Greg’s weight settled over him.

Greg kissed him again and Mycroft moaned, hands on Greg’s shoulders. Greg took Mycroft’s cock in hand and gave him a stroke.

Mycroft arched into the touch. “G… Gregory,” he panted.

“I want to taste you, Mycroft. Will you let me?”

“Taste?” asked Mycroft.

“Mmhmm,” Greg kept his gaze as he moved down his body, before giving his cock a lick.

“Oh!” Mycroft truly hoped there was no one around to hear his cry.

Greg wrapped his lips around him and of course Mycroft had read about such things and seen a bit of pornography but that was absolutely nothing to the sight and feel of Greg Lestrade’s lips surrounding his cock.

“Christ,” he muttered, one hand going to Greg’s hair.

Greg hummed around his cock, bobbing his head.

There was no way to last under that. Mycroft’s eyes screwed tightly shut, hips moving of their own volition. “Gone… gonna,” he tried to warn a moment before he came, Greg eagerly swallowing every drop.

Finally, Mycroft cracked one eye open, still panting. “Do you… can I do…”

“Oh,” Greg gave a sheepish grin. “I’m good.”

Mycroft sat up and looked down. “Oh… did…. Did you get yourself off while sucking my cock?”

“Yeah, well, I really like sucking your cock.” Greg reached for some napkins to clean himself up.

“No complaints here.” Mycroft leaned over to kiss Greg, tasting himself on his lips. He felt like he would be smiling for days.

Greg kissed him in return. “Well, we have all summer.”

“Good. I think, maybe, we should come back here again,” Mycroft wove his fingers through Greg’s.

“Yeah, we can do that. Or I’ve got a flat without any nosy little siblings.”

“You’re playing my favorite song.” Mycroft chuckled and leaned against him.

Greg held him close and nuzzled his throat. “My favorite duet.”

**Author's Note:**

> I stayed up way too late writing this.
> 
> Much thanks to the Blu Doc crew for cheering this on. And to HumsHappily for reading it over.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr and twitter at merindab


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